NZ Woman's Weekly

Kerre’s change of pace

Kerre’s change of pace

I’ve heard my fair share of disastrous honeymoon stories. My mum and dad nearly divorced two days after they were married when Dad insisted on putting a squashed possum in the boot of the old Morris car they were travelling in for their holiday up north.

He told Mum it would be ideal as bait for the crayfish pot, but the hot weather, the smell of the possum and the lack of ventilation meant Mum got out of the car and refused to get back in.

Honeymoons don’t always go smoothly – at least in our family. But for Tom and me, what could possibly go wrong? Our friends were throwing a spectacular party in Martinborough that we were attending and I’d booked us into a beautiful cottage on a farmstead at Whangaimoana Beach that looked amazing on the website and was even more gorgeous in real life.

It was late in the evening, or rather, early in the morning, by the time we were dropped at our cottage and it was then I realised – as we stood in the pouring rain and I fumbled through my bag – that I’d left the cottage key in our car, which was half an hour’s drive away.

There are no taxis and our options seemed limited. I was of the “break a window and pay for an emergency glazier to come in the morning” school of thought – Tom thought we should break into the owners’ homestead.

Neither option was ideal, but we ended up breaking into the house and waking the owners, who were very understanding and didn’t throw us out. The next morning, we wanted to do a little sightseeing around the beautiful Wairarapa Coast and so we needed our car.

“Let’s walk,” said Tom.

“Didn’t you say it was 16km to Martinborough?” I said.

“We can do that easily.”

“Okay,” I said, supportively. I didn’t want to ask the owners to run us in after the bother we’d caused them the night before and I wanted to show my hubby I was up for anything.

Off we set and we walked and walked and walked. It was a gorgeous day, we had the right footwear. It seemed doable. A friend rang me from town to ask what we were up to. “Just walking into town,” I replied down the line. “Aren’t you staying out by Cape Palliser?” she asked, incredulously. “Well, on the way there,” I said. “See you soon.”

Half an hour later, I pointed ahead at a car, wondering if it was my friend Di. It was. “You two better get in,” she said. “Did it not occur to you that if it took half an hour for the shuttle to drive you to your B&B it was going to be more than 16km you’d need to walk?”

We looked at each other and shook our heads. “Because I’ve set the odometer,” said Di. “Let’s see how far away it is.”

The answer was 38km away. We would never have got there. And we probably wouldn’t be married. Tom would have dug his heels in and insisted on walking. I’d have offered favours to any passing farmer in return for a lift and a beer. Thank heavens for fabulous friends!

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